


Earn Your Leather

by Monsterunderkilt



Series: The Manse [7]
Category: Celebrities & Real People - Fandom, Johnny Weir - Fandom, RPF - Fandom, Real Person Fanfic - Fandom, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 04:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17676488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monsterunderkilt/pseuds/Monsterunderkilt
Summary: I give Johnny a special article of clothing.





	Earn Your Leather

“Are you trying them on now?” I yell through the door. I cover my mouth as giggles rush up out of me; champagne bubbles shoving the cork out of the bottle. 

“Yessss!” replies a clear, slightly annoyed voice.

“Are you wearing them now?” 

“YES!” More annoyed.

“Are you ready? Can I see now?”

“Jesus, Mary and Jon Stewart, hold your panties!” The voice grows louder until the door swings open so quickly on the word “panties!” that I feel sucked into the room like an open airlock on Battlestar Galactica. I grin stupidly as he grabs my hand and spins me out of the doorway, shutting it behind us. I feel my face stretch with a wide-open, jaw-dropped smile when I take in the majesty that is my latest inspiration: Johnny Weir in naught but an absurdly tight set of leather trousers. He smirks at me, striking a shirtless pose. 

“Someone’s not wearing panties,” I can barely say without fainting.

He purses his lips and gently pats my fanny. “Someone’s gonna need a new pair.”

I blush with the fury of a thousand baboon bottoms. But my grin never strays. “You’re the worst kind of tease, you know.”

Johnny does a half-twirl and curtly jiggles his bum at me. “It’s your Manse, so it’s your fantasy,” he says as he sashays across my largest Manse guest room toward the all-white California King. He hops onto it and crosses his taught legs demurely in front of him as he leans against the piles of snowy pillows, so small a figure against the frankly asinine acreage of bed. He runs a hand through his flash of raven-black semi-mohawk coif and winks through a sex-tinged, narrowed gaze. “Join me, my dear.”

My eyes roll back into my skull at this point, my fantasy getting way ahead of me before I can even relish the deliciousness of it. I do savor the irony, however, as I find myself feeling guilty for even imagining this angelic homosexual being any kind of flirty with a garden-variety hetero lady like me. Everything I’ve learned to adore about him in the last ten days has involved his clothes, his attitude, his general hopepunk image, now all stripped down to a pair of black skin-tight man leggings enveloping the most gloriously skating-toned thighs and calves known to mankind. He is so much more than this pretty piece of flesh.

I stare motionless for a second too long, so Johnny rolls his eyes, stands up on the bed and walks over to me, holding out his arms. “Alright, get your toochis up here, woman!”

I blink and reach up and he firmly grabs my upper arms, assertively lifting me like I’m his skating partner to stand with him. I sway on the soft surface, but he wraps his arms about me and balances us with effortlessly stable footwork. He slowly turns us about, gently dancing on the bed as he holds me against his bare, hot chest. He pulls away just enough to smile into my soul. “Life is too short not to dance on giant beds,” he says with that grin. He tugs me closer by the waist as he touches the red curls at my temple and shakes his head. “Such flair in that hair, girl! It’s like all your personality is pouring out of your head in the most intense way and I wish mine did that without the assistance of wigs and weaves.”

I snort a laugh and drop my forehead against his shoulder. “Shut up,” I mumble. “You cannot be jealous of my flair.”

Johnny picks up my head with both hands and lays a wet kiss on my temple, then hugs me tighter as we continue to half stumble on the mattress. “I could have all the flair on the planet, but it wouldn’t be yours.”

I almost panic when I feel huge warm tears suddenly well up behind my eyelids. My heart stops the moment one drops onto his skin and he freezes. 

“Madam, are you OK?” he asks.

I sniffle and smile against his smooth pectorals. “Am I OK?” I say. “I couldn’t be more OK right now unless Perfection arrived to join us.”

Johnny kisses my cheek and resumes our dancing, this time, taking one of my hands to lead me in an old-fashioned waltz across the squishy dance floor. “Well, that’s another story, sweetheart, I cannot compete with that.”

“You don’t have to compete,” I say, boldly cupping one cheek of his bum in my free hand. “Just make out with him a little?”

His giggle gives me life as it thrums against my chest. “If you so desire, Madam. I aim to please, especially if it also pleases me. You can squeeze it tighter, dear, it’s not gonna pop.”

I take the deepest breath and do as I’m told. I even venture to sneak my fingers under the waistband of the tight leather. My smile evaporates my few tears of joy and he finally places a chaste kiss on my lips. His smile softens and he whispers to me. 

“To be honest, I just want to go somewhere and wear a white sequined Speedo without it chafing.”

And with a decisive shove, I manage to get my hand between the leather and his naked ass. His eyebrows pop up for a moment, then he smiles at my daring.

I kiss his cheek and whisper into his ear. “Sweetie, you’ve come to the right place.”


End file.
